


Gettin' Groceries or Some Shit

by LuxaLucifer



Category: Fables - Willingham, The Wolf Among Us
Genre: Angst, Gen, having one arm sucks kids dont try it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2015-07-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 04:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4376822
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the dust settled, Holly was without a sister and Gren without an arm. She mourned the former. It was high time Gren dealt with the latter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gettin' Groceries or Some Shit

**Author's Note:**

> The only warning I can think of is for profanity, which there’s a great deal of. I’ve been itching to write a Gren fic, so here’s a little something about dealing with the loss of his arm. References to the comics included but they’re definitely not required material.

The only warning I can think of is for profanity, which there’s a great deal of. I’ve been itching to write a Gren fic, so here’s a little something about dealing with the loss of his arm. References to the comics included but they’re definitely not required material.

* * *

 

 

When she knocked on the door she didn’t get a response. She never did the first time around. She rapped harder. A mundy would bruise their knuckles pounding a door this hard.

“Who the fuck do you think you are, huh?” came the resounding snarl. Holly smiled to herself, listening to the sound of furniture getting pushed around as the man inside headed for the door. She wondered how many door to door salesman had this address blacklisted for disturbing Grendel’s peace.

The door was wrenched open and Holly finally got to see the bastard she’d been worried sick over.

“You look like shit,” she said, crossing her arms.

Gren’s hair was disheveled, sticking up in several directions from the mousse he’d obviously forgotten to wash out. The suit jacket he’d been wearing for the last few weeks was missing, leaving him in a stained white undershirt and a pair of boxers. Holly’s gaze kept drawing towards the place where his arm should be, the raw red scars and dark stitching. She’d done it herself, the night it had happened. He’d cried the entire time. She’d never lost an arm so she didn’t think it was her place to mock him for it.

She forced her gaze up to his face, which was getting dourer by the second. He wasn’t an idiot, no matter what she liked to tell him when he spilled his drink more than once a night. He frowned, leaning on the doorframe and effectively blocking her from seeing into his dark apartment.

“What the fuck do you want, Holly?” he said, rubbing his hand over his face. There were dark circles under his bleary eyes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“What, are you my fucking mother now?” he said, expression darkening. “Is that why you’re here, to get on my case? I called off, what’s the big fucking deal?”

“Would you lie to your mother too?” she said, pushing past him. His apartment was as shitty as you’d expect from a man who spent every night at the same bar. She’d seen him the night before, even. Fables could drink a  _lot_ \- especially ones hiding a bigger exterior under their glamours, but what she’d just seen Gren had been excessive. No wonder he was hiding in his dark apartment.

She passed a beat up VCR player with a single tape sitting on top of it. When she squinted she could read the title- “Grendel Grendel Grendel.” According to the cover it was an Australian animated movie. God, Gren was such a fucking loser.

Gren sat on the futon that was roughly lined up in front of his TV. “Why are you here?” he said. “Making a house call to deliver me some more booze, since I’m way too sober for this shit?”

“Definitely not,” she said, pursing her lips. “Not the way you’ve been drinking. It takes a lot to make a goddamn bar owner tell you to cut down.”

He threw his hand in the air, rolling his eyes. “You want the truth, since you’ve come and disturbed my goddamn sleep? Fine!”

“You lost your job,” said Holly.

If anything, Gren looked disappointed that she’d spoiled his big reveal. His arm fell back to his side and he grunted an acknowledgment of her words. His eyes were staring firmly at the floor, one of the spots without an empty bottle littering it.

“The mundies don’t have any use for me anymore,” he said. Officially, Gren was unemployed. Officially, Fables weren’t supposed to work for mundies. And yet Gren had been lifting boxes for the mundies for hundreds of years now and had only gotten in a spot of trouble here and there…but you needed two arms to lift boxes into trucks (or into trains, or whatever it was he did now. A long time back it had been into wooden ships. The mundies changed so fast).

“Shit, Gren,” she said. They weren’t the words she wanted to say. She wanted to ask him if he was okay. She wanted to ask if he was going to be evicted. If he was going to end up in the gutter, the lowest of Fables, wondering why he’d even bothered to escape from the Homelands in the first place.

“I have some money saved up,” he said. “More than you’d think. I’ll be fine.” He somehow knew what she couldn’t say. He was a goddamned pain in the ass, but he was there for her, and had been for so long that he understood what she was getting at.

He threw his forearm across his eyes and groaned. “Is that why you’re here then? To make me feel shitty about losing my job?”

“No,” she said. “It’s not. What’s in your fridge?”

His arm slid down his face as his eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Do you have any food in there?” she said. “Or just a six pack of beer?”

“It’s just one of those…” he said, trying to gesture and describe what he was thinking of. “You know, plastic things. That go around the beer.”

“That’s what’s in your fridge right now?” she said. “What do you  _eat?_ ”

“There’s a fast food place across the street,” he said. “And you know I like your shitty pickled eggs. Where does Bigby goddamn Wolf get off-”

“I came to take you to the store,” said Holly. “The grocery store. You may not recognize the name, since you’ve clearly never been inside one before.”

“You really do think you’re my fucking mother, don’t you?”

“I should hope not,” she replied, glancing at the ancient portrait hanging on the wall. The only thing Gren had brought with him from the Homelands. “Now get off your ass and put some pants on before I reach down and finally free the world of that soul patch.”

Gren’s hand reached up to protect his terrible facial hair. He pulled himself off his futon, grumbling the entire time. “What happened to respecting my peace and quiet?”

“Not when it’s hurting you,” she said, shoving him towards his bedroom with what she liked to think of as a gentle push. He swatted at her and grumbled, scratching at his boxers as he went into the other room to change.

If you looked a little more closely at his shithole excuse for an apartment, the way Holly was now, you’d notice that Gren had done a little…remodeling. He sure wasn’t getting his deposit back, not the way he’d plastered the walls in an attempt to keep the sound out. Sometimes she wanted to ask if it worked. She doubted it, the way he carried on.

She stood there for several long minutes, tapping her fingers on her arm. She wasn’t that patient, truth be told, and she ended up walking to his bedroom door, kicking aside fast food wrappers to get there. “What’s the holdup?” she barked, loud enough to get past whatever sound barriers he had in there.

“Just give me a damn second!”

She pushed the door open in annoyance. This man seriously could not know how to press her buttons any better.

“Oh for the love of god,” said Gren, who was standing in the middle of the room fiddling with his pants, trying and failing to slip the button into place.

“Haven’t you done this before?” said Holly, who couldn’t believe she was about to help her best customer put his pants on.

“Done what? Fucking put my pants on? Don’t get smart with me, Holly, I’m not in the mood.”

Out of the corner of her eye she noticed there were at least ten pillows on his bed. Sound barriers or just Gren being soft as shit? Hard to tell.

“I meant losing an arm,” she said, helping him snap it into place.

“I’m not a fucking swamp monster anymore,” he said. “I have to do shit.”

“Should have thought of that when you didn’t get it sewn back on, huh?” she said, picking a truly hideous striped jacket off the floor and draping it around his shoulders.

“Don’t remind me,” he said, the venom in his tone toned down. He sounded tired, and she felt bad. Not a dig he needed right now.

“Let’s go,” she said. He pulled his arm into the sleeve and straightened the jacket, following her out of his apartment.

“So what inspired this act of charity?” asked Gren, as much sarcasm dripping from his voice as he could manage. He squinted in pain as they walked outside, the wind blowing his empty sleeve into Holly’s face. The man was hungover, but that wasn’t her fault.

“You’re my friend, believe it or not,” she said. “I’m sick of watching you pretend everything is all right.”

“We had more important things to worry about,” said Gren, standing around as Holly hailed a cab. The man looked even shittier in the daylight. He hadn’t even bothered to comb his hair. She resisted the urged to flatten the more ridiculous cowlicks and slid into the cab.

“So what fantastic mundy store are we headed for?” said Gren, ignoring the stare he got from the cab driver.

“Bullfinch Street,” said Holly to the driver, raising her eyebrow at Gren.

“Oh for  _fuck’s_  sake,” said Gren. “Web n’ Muffet’s? Really? You know what all the assholes on Bullfinch are saying about me.”

Yeah. She did. The irony of the situation was not lost on anyone, and Gren’s sour attitude had only made the jokes spread faster.

“You can’t run away from it,” she said. “You know that.”

They couldn’t say much else in front of the mundy. Gren spent the next few minutes running his hand through his hair, having finally noticed what a mess he looked like. That, and grumbling about her. She didn’t mind so much.

Gren didn’t live far from Bullfinch Street. Most Fables didn’t. Holly paid the fare and clambered out of the cab, her large child of a regular (more like a best friend, a man who’d been at her bar since before she’d owned it, someone she could count on) following her into the market.

“Hey,” he said, turning to her with one normal eye and one white. His glamour was going bad again. “Before we shop and whatever you have planned, I gotta ask. We haven’t really, you know, talked since all that shit went down at the Witching Well.”

She sighed. “It is what it is. I’m mourning. I’ll live.”

He hesitated. “Holly, I’m no good at this- you know, this kind of shit. But if you need a shoulder to cry on, or you know, something like that. Well, I’m here. Since there’s no one for me to lay into.”

“Let’s just go shopping,” she said. “Today’s not about me.”

“What happened was a whole lot of bullshit,” said Gren, holding the door open for her. She rolled her eyes and grabbed a shopping basket. “Really though,” he added. “There were more important things going on than my arm. Still are.”

“Take a little time to feel sorry for yourself,” she said. “And stop being so self-sacrificing. Now let’s see if this store has those pickled eggs you claim to like so much.”

“Trust me, I feel plenty sorry for myself,” said Gren. “I just have the decency to keep it at home.”

“Don’t,” said Holly. “Bring it to the bar and bitch about it like you do everything else.”

The market was brightly lit. Even she found it a bit annoying; she chuckled to think of how the hungover Gren was feeling about the florescent lighting. The man was so used to overdrinking that he didn’t bad an eye, however, and grabbed a shopping basket.

“Did you think that through?” she said, raising her eyebrows at the basket.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“So how are you planning to get the food from the shelf into that basket?”

“I’ll ask you to do it,” he said, smirking. When he did that she wanted to smack the smile off his face. Probably why he did it.

She put her basket back. The Web n’ Muffet was small, but it had a variety of foods that mundy stores just didn’t have. She knew there was a tiny selection of replica foods from the old days- foods that might appeal to Gren a bit more than the standard mundy fare.

They walked down the aisles together, Holly stuffing food into the basket. They had to go back and get a cart when that got filled up. Gren didn’t have any cash on him, but she didn’t mind. She’d brought him here, she’d pay for him. He’d been there for her when she needed him. He’d been in a lot of pain and he hadn’t seemed to give the slightest shit, not when she had so much going on. He’d put her first. Time she repaid the favor.

She kept quiet as they shopped. He liked silence. He liked being left alone. Normally she let him drink in his corner until he was ready to bitch about the latest Fabletown bullshit. Still, the man needed her, even if he didn’t think so.

They were fine until the sound of a bugle playing hit their ears. Holly could  _see_ Gren’s grip on the shopping cart tighten until his knuckles were white. The door to the market clanged open, and in walked three Fables, making as much noise as they could possibly manage. Holly winced as Gren’s expression darkened.

“You gotta love Nod’s Books, am I right?” said a cheery voice. Gren didn’t move. Holly pulled some candy into the cart, trying to distract him with it. It didn’t work.

The chattering voices approached them. Just Holly’s luck that they’d pick this exact aisle to walk down. All she’d wanted was to take Gren for a quiet shopping trip. Maybe she should have gone to a mundy store after all.

The bugle playing continued as the three people who’d entered stepped into view. Boy Blue, Flycatcher, and Pinocchio. They were here for the candy, she realized. Maybe they could get out of the aisle before Gren said anything. She tried to push the cart but he wouldn’t budge. He was angry, his face furrowed into a grimace.

“Hey look,” said Pinocchio. “I know you.”

“Yeah?” said Gren, looking away from the cart. Holly let out the breath she’d been holding. Well, it was too late now. “What a goddamn surprise.”

“He doesn’t look like he wants us to bother him,” said Flycatcher, pulling on his hat nervously. “Let’s just go. We can get candy later.”

“It’s a public place,” said Pinocchio. “We can get candy  _now.”_

“It is a public place, you’re right,” said Gren, straightening up. “So why don’t you stop playing that bugle before I stuff it up your ass?”

Blue’s eyes widened and shot to the instrument in his hand. “I didn’t know it was…is my playing really that bad?”

“It’s not about your playing, kid,” said Holly. “It’s the fact that you’re doing it. Can’t you just leave us in peace for a few minutes?”

“What did we ever do to you?” said Blue, so innocently it hurt. When they weren’t talking, Pinocchio and Flycatchers’ eyes kept drawing to Gren’s empty sleeve.

Gren was building up to an angry swear filled retort when Pinocchio interrupted with, “Hey, I gotta know, were you right handed? Cause if that was your wanking hand, man, Bigby was a real jerk.”

“Fucking hell,” said Holly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Just leave us alone.”

“It wasn’t us who had the problem here,” said Blue, crossing his arms.

“Aw, will an apology for hurting your feelings make you feel better?” said Gren, voice rising. “Boo  _fucking_  hoo, I hurt your feelings. Go back to your apartment in the Woodlands and to kissing the ass of the people who think they’re better than you. Except they don’t, do they? You don’t have to pay out your ass just to keep from being shipped off, not like we do, but do you give a shit? Have you ever even  _thought_  about giving a shit?”

He spat on the floor of the market and pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving Holly standing there facing the three Fables. She heard swearing behind her and turned her head to see that Gren had crashed the cart into a wall, unable to keep the angle straight.

“What the fuck do you want me to say?” she said. She sounded so tired. She could hear it in her voice. “Sorry that he’s upset? Sorry that he just wanted you to stop playing your stupid fucking bugle for twenty minutes? Sorry that he just wanted a little  _respect_  for once in his life?”

Pinocchio and Boy Blue stared at the floor, the candy, anywhere but her. “He just lost his arm,” she said, more softly than intended. “Show a little humanity.” She felt a bit rich saying that. None of them pointed out that it was coming from a troll, however, even when she walked away to find her best customer.

The cart was straightened out when she found him. He was leaning against the milk freezer, head in his hand. “Fuck,” he was repeating, more times than she liked to hear. “Goddammit, Holly. Why’d we come here?”

He finally needed her, even if it was her fault. “I’m here, Gren,” she said.

“Fuck,” he swore. “You know why he did it, Holly? You know why he fucking did it?”

“Why?” she asked.

“For the fucking irony of it,” he managed. His shoulders were shaking. He slid down the freezer until he was sitting on the floor. “For the fucking irony, you know? He couldn’t just stop, he thought, you know, oh it’s Grendel, I see that scar, it would be so fucking funny if I just ripped his arm off again. So  _fitting_.”

She sat on the ground next to him, getting down on her knees. She didn’t know what to say.

“I lost my arm to fucking irony!” he yelled, reaching out in anger, finding the cart and knocking it over, spilling its contents onto the floor. Holly ignored it. “The stupid fuck gets to live his life, and he’ll look back and feel a little shitty, you know, a little bad sometimes, but it’s all good because Grendel’s been through it before, but it’s me who’s got to live with this!”

All that anger, and finally it was about himself. Bigby had been nothing but kind to them except this. Maybe it was because of this. Maybe the wolf actually felt some remorse in his dark heart when he looked at Gren and his pinned up sleeve.

“I know, Gren,” said Holly. “It’s some real fucked up shit.”

“It’s not fair,” said Gren, swallowing hard. When the breath came back it came back up as a sob. “It’s not fair, you know? Bigby thinks I’m the one who can’t move on from the past, and he does this? How am I supposed to just get over this?”

“I know, Gren.”

She’d wanted him to take a moment feel sorry for himself, hadn’t she? As she watched tears leak from bloodshot eyes she knew she’d gotten her wish. Making him confront this was not a good feeling.

Generally they didn’t touch, they didn’t hug, they didn’t do any of that touchy-feeling shit. She broke that rule on the floor of the Web n’ Muffet and held Gren while he finally realized what having an empty sleeve meant the second time.


End file.
